


Smoke and Snakes

by alicat54c



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dead Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Gen, Kanima Jackson Whittemore, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 13:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19296709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicat54c/pseuds/alicat54c
Summary: Scott hadn’t needed his inhaler since last year, when an ill advised jaunt in the woods left him a werewolf. A werewolf, who’s fast healing meant his friend could run without doubling over every twenty steps, who’s asthma couldn’t kill him faster than his body could heal.The only thing his body wouldn’t be able to heal, well. Stiles bet that Scott’s clothing smelled strongly of wolfsbane when they- when they found him....Victoria Argent succeeds in killing Scott, and Stiles makes friends with an iguana.





	Smoke and Snakes

They found his body in a warehouse. His lips were blue, hands curled close to his chest like claws, just short of reaching his own throat. Or at least, that was the picture they printed in the local paper.

Asthma, they said, with the clinical air of those with access to medical records showing years of hospitalization. Not surprising, they said, though why he didn’t have his inhaler with his history? Must have been the black mold in the warehouse that set him off. The town should really stop these parties in these warehouses, the safety hazards alone-

Stiles stopped listening at that point.

Scott hadn’t needed his inhaler since last year, when an ill advised jaunt in the woods left him a werewolf. A werewolf, who’s fast healing meant his friend could run without doubling over every twenty steps, who’s asthma couldn’t kill him faster than his body could heal.

The only thing his body wouldn’t be able to heal, well. Stiles bet that Scott’s clothing smelled strongly of wolfsbane when they- when they found him. 

Around him, black clad mourners began shuffling back to the parking lot. There weren’t that many; a few cousins and faceless kids from school. Stiles stood near the back of the procession, unmoving. He could feel his father’s strong grip on his shoulder, but couldn’t make himself move when Mrs. McCall’s sobs reached his ears.

His father tugged insistently on his shoulder again. Stiles let himself be moved, only after making sure that a gaggle of women, most likely Scott’s grandmother and aunts, approached Mrs. McCall. 

The Sheriff let go when it became evident that his son was following.

As they passed the last line of people on the way to their car, Stiles couldn’t stop himself from stopping.

Allison sat in the back row, eyes red. Her parents were suspiciously absent.

“Did you know?” He asked, voice scratchy and flat.

Tears welled in her eyes, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. The place where he kept such things vanished along with the place Scott once filled in his life.

He walked past her before his father could call for him.

She was still crying.  
…

“Need you at the den,” the text on his phone read. The number was unfamiliar, but the terse wording couldn’t have been from anyone but the resident sour wolf.

The pack had retained radio silence ever since capturing the kanima. The plan had gone off without a hitch, with Derek there to strong arm the lizard monster into submission for Stiles to trap in a circle of mountain ash. He should have known something terrible was going to happen, but he was riding high on his success at being so badass at monster catching. Then the next day they found Scott in the back of that warehouse, and-

Ruthlessly he pushed the straining tide of raging panic down. He couldn’t afford to have an attack. Not yet. 

Breathing evenly in through his mouth an out through his nose, Stiles grabbed his red hoodie off the back of his desk chair and shimmied it over his shoulders. He skirted the edge of the staircase, until he was sure that his father was not waiting for him. Probably to ask Stiles if he was ok, or remind him again of how he would be inviting Sco- Mrs. McCall over for dinner at the end of the week. 

Not wanting to look a gift wolf in the mouth, the teen sprinted the last few steps to the front door, and flung himself into his jeep.

Half way to his destination, his stomach growled, reminding him of all the time he recently spent holed up in his bedroom with his cork board and string. He picked up a bag of curly fries, and, through unconscious habit, a bag of burgers.

His throat constricted, even as he paid for the food, appetite gone. He wouldn’t have been able to finish all of it by himself anyway, it was a serving for two people, and Stiles- Stiles-

He pulled up in front of the old railcar, and took a moment to calm his frantic heartbeat, fingers clenched around the wheel. Getting out of the car, one hand carrying the greasy bags, Stiles walked into the wolf’s den, hoping his head is held high enough to stop the dampness from escaping his eyes.

Issac stood just inside the entrance, and Stiles had to restrain himself from making a guard dog joke. His eyes met Stiles’s, but otherwise made no acknowledgement of his arrival. On a threadbare couch in the corner, Erica lounged with Boyd. She smiled sultrily, twiddling her fingers. The corners of her mouth are tight, but Stiles makes no mention of it, as he puts his bags of food on the table made of plywood balanced on cinderblocks. 

The cheap steel under his feet rattled, and, not for the first time, Stiles wondered how long the set would last. Some years ago, a movie had been shot, and they created a mockup of a subway station, complete with cars, out of an abandoned gas station. When filming was done, or the project went belly up (his sources were unclear), the producers abandoned the set. Only for it to now be colonized by a pack of werewolves.

Shaking away his thoughts, Stiles sought out the last inhabitants of the space.

Derek stood in the center of the railcar, arms crossed over his chest, red eyes gleaming as they watched the last figure, which writhed and hissed, scaled claws scraping around the circumference of its ash circle prison.

“I brought food,” Stiles called, unnecessarily.

Derek didn’t move, but the betas all crowded to the table.

“Hey, leave some for me!” the human groused, saving the bag of fries from the frenzy. Issac grinned cheekily, and handed him a wrapped burger, before returning to the pile.

Stiles rolled his eyes, depositing the offering in the bag of curly fries. He grabbed a handful of fried spuds to cram into his mouth as he approached the stoic alpha.

“So,” Stiles said, cheeks puffed out. He swallowed. The food tasted like cardboard, but he plowed on, stuffing another into his mouth.“Reach a breakthrough yet?”

Behind him, he could hear the betas whine about how there was barely enough food for two people, let alone the pack. His mouth went dry, and the writhing sea of emotion under his heart backed against the embankments of his mind. 

The kanima’s yellow red eyes snapped from where it was glaring at Derek, to bare its teeth at him. Stiles’s mouth tightened and he glared back, muscles locking into place to deny his instinctive urge to step back.

“He hasn’t transformed back, but he hasn’t broken the circle either.” Derek didn’t bother looking at him as he spoke, but Stiles didn’t take it personally, what with the rather large lizard monster less than five feet away. 

“That’s great.” Stiles stuffed his fist into his pocket feeling the jar of mountain ash tucked there, free hand crinkling the greasy bag of fries. “Should I make another circle tonight, just to be safe. You know?”

The alpha grunted, which the teen decided to interpret as assent.

Stiles rocked back on his heels. His attention wandered to the kanima, struck by a wayward thought. 

“He’s been stuck in there since last week, right?” Derek’s raised eyebrow spoke volumes to how obvious that statement should be. Stiles blundered on. “Have you fed him?”

The alpha blinked, arms uncrossing slightly, as if in preparation to throw themselves up into the air in a desperate bid to save him from the butterfly of Stile’s attention. “We’re trying to kill it, Stiles.”

“Yeah, good job with that. So, that’s a no?” He shifted to look at the seething mass of scales. “You know that’s a human right’s violation, or something. And I know they weren’t thinking of supernatural snake people when they wrote them, but still.” He jingled his keys in his pocket. “Right, well luckily for you all, I made a burger run. Extra rare all around.”

“Stiles, you’re not feeding the kanima.”

But Stiles was already fishing his burger out of his bag-o-fries, and unwrapping it. He hesitated, looking from the food to the lizard, as if realizing for the first time that getting closer to feed it meant /getting closer to it/. 

He almost wished someone would call him out on his reckless idea, but Derek was huffing stoically, waiting for him to get his arm bit off, and the betas were still showing down on what remained of his meager offering of fast food. 

A wave overran the dike in his mind, surging up from behind his navel, like hot fire through the back of his throat to his brain, leaving him dizzy, with an empty pit in his stomach. He felt listless, like half a functioning person. And he was, in a way, because the other half- the half that would pull him back when he was dancing too close to the edge was- Scott was-

Stiles took in a shuddering breath, held it, and took in another. He looked down, toes scant inches from the ash circle he had drawn, when the pack had dragged an unconscious Jackson back to their den. He blinked again.

Poison yellow eyes, bleeding orange to a red center fixed on him. A gaping maw under a disconcertingly flat face stretched, revealing rows and rows of sharp needle teeth.

Stiles gulped, but- but- he couldn’t just leave him to starve alone. Jackson might be a jackass, but he was still a guy Stiles has known since single digits. Someone who remembered Scott. Someone who he really didn’t want to see get killed.

Gently, so as not to have the bread and patty go flying everywhere, Stiles tossed the burger into the circle. Immediately, the kanima fell upon it, like a starving viper, not even bothering to chew as he stuffed the burger into his face, swallowing with one long unduluous movement.

Stiles shuddered, and the reptile fixed him with an expectant stare, crouching as close to the edge of the circle as it could. Not one to be out gunned, Stiles crouched, and rocked back onto his heels into a seated position. He tosses a fry into the ring, and the kanima snaps it out of the air before it hits the ground.

“Neat.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Stiles looks over at Derek, who’s thunderous frown seemed to have accumulate more clouds. 

“So, since it’s a full moon tonight, why don’t you concentrate on giving the new recruits the induction speech, while I feed the iguana. This isn’t exactly my first rodeo Derek, who do you think taught Scott-“ 

His throat burns, and lizard eyes are fixed unerringly on him again.

Derek’s gaze flicked between Stiles’s eyes, shoulders going stiff from whatever they saw there. “Fine,” he growled out, marching to an adjoining car. The betas, tossing crumpled wrappers at each other, follow their alpha, when he motions them to follow with a jerk of his head.

Stiles listens to the muffled discussion, punctuated by the rattling of chains and the quiet hiss of the kanima.

He flicks another fry into the ring, and watches as the lizard snaps it out of the air. “It’s Lydia’s birthday tonight, you know,” he says conversationally. The kanima doesn’t react, expectantly watching Stiles’s hands for more fries. He obliges with a flick of his wrist. “Figures that the one time I get an invitation, I’d be stuck babysitting an iguana.” Flick, snap. “Are you even an iguana? You’re more like a snake, but you have arms and eyelids, so maybe, like, a skink.” Flick, snap. “Hey, do you shed? Cuz if you shed piece by piece, as opposed to all in one go, then we would know your reptile spirit animal, or ancestor, or whatever.” Flick, snap. “I wonder if the guy who made Godzilla knew about kanimas. That would explain a lot.” Flick- SMASH!

Stiles jumped, fries flying everywhere as he struggled to stay inside of his own skin.

In the orange light provided by the flickering train lamps, Stiles could see the gleaming yellow eyes of enraged beta werewolves. Chains trailed from their limbs, and Stiles swore. He fished the bottle of mountain ash from his pocket, just as a fourth wolf with red eyes leapt upon the pack, pulling them back into the room.

Still cursing, Stiles unscrewed the jar, praying with every visualization exercise he had practiced, and slowly began to make a circle around himself with the ash. It turned more into an oblong squiggle, but the ends closed, meeting up with the neater circle of the kanima’s prison, like a venn diagram.

He heard smashing and whimpers coming from the wrestling wolves, and focused on keeping his rabbit fast heart from exploding. This was just like the time he had a full moon with Scott- No. Not thinking about that. This is different. There are three out of control werewolves and whatever Derek was here. 

He hears a high yowl, possibly Erica, and more scrabbling. Deep growls, probably Derek, resonated through the railcar. Stiles forcibly reminded himself that fleeing from a predator just made them want to chase you. And besides, he’d been through worse than this. He was safe - alone- SAFE inside his magic dirt circle- and -and-

A fury of fangs and yellow eyes bound out of the side room, curly hair thrown into disarray as Issac lunged at the human teenager. 

Stiles jerked back, arms pinwheeling as he flailed, even as the werewolf crashed into the side of his barrier. Stiles grunted, wind knocked out of him, as he unbalanced and fell. He rolled to his side, and felt grit against his fingers.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he lifted his gaze. 

Red, orange, and yellow. Close. Too, too, too close.

The kanima hissed, breath smelling like curly fries. Stiles might have laughed at the absurdity, if he wasn’t contemplating whether he would be able to feel his liver be removed, or whether kanima venom also was a numbing agent.

A scaly hand reached towards him, claws gleaming in the dim light.

He wished Scott were here. He hoped he would go wherever Scott went. The tide rose, breaking down the barriers in his mind completely, drowning the teenager in a tsunami of emotion. Stiles closed his eyes, tears threatening to spill from the edges of his eyes. 

It wasn’t fair. 

It wasn’t fair that he tried his hardest to keep everyone safe, and his dad got fired. It wasn’t fair that Scott got killed by a family of psycho hunters for being in love with their daughter. It wasn’t fair that those Argents got to have their picket fence and happy family after everything they had done, when Stiles and his dad still mourned every day for his mother, a woman who had never hurt anyone before her disease struck. It wasn’t fair that they wouldn’t get punished for killing Scott- for killing the Hales- for killing, and killing, and killing, and- and- 

A soft touch caressed the palm of his hand.

Stiles opened his eyes.

The kanima blinked down at him, palm laid gently against his own, which he had instinctively raised to defend himself. It hissed, pressing its cold palm harder against his own, insistent.

“Um.” On reflex, Stiles curls his fingers through the kanima’s. It hisses again, and rocks to its feet, taking Stiles with it, until he was standing. “Um,” he said again.  
...


End file.
